Red
by diradevito
Summary: Elphaba loves red. She loves it when the red appears and the green disappears. And she is in love and knows he loves red, too. Warning: M for self-harm. Shiz-era.


Disclaimer: Don't own Wicked.

Warning: Cutting, but without actually using the pain for comfort.

Red.

Elphaba loves red. Because red means there is no green. Where red small cuts are on here skin, the green color is not. And it makes her happy, when the green disappears before her very eyes and is replaced by something more beautiful. Red is the color of passion, of love. And while she's not particular fond of the idea that its blood that stains her skin - it stands for family and she never felt like she belonged to one - she can't resist. She draws the knife over the side of her leg and looks a little closer. Watches how the ugly green is consumed by crisp, new red, as if all her misery can be washed away this way. She's also not very fond of the pain most times, because she already felt enough of it in her short life, but sometimes, sometimes it's welcomed. When the physical pain has to dull another ache.

Not today though. Today she shivers, holds the knife tighter, but doesn't stop. Can't stop. Today more green has to disappear. Because today something happened that should've never happened. Today, in a mere second, the blink of an eye, she fell in love. In one sweet moment she lost her heart. The only thing she's always guarded with such care. The only thing that makes her fairly human. That let her care for all those poor Animals and her sister. The heart, her heart, that told her and convinced her over and over again that somehow besides her ugly appearance she had to live, because she did good. Because she stood for something good. It told her that Goodness is needed.

But now her heart is lost.

So she draws blood. A cut and another. More than ever, because she has to prove to herself that underneath all that green is still red. Wonderful, blissful red. That her heart has not been changed to something green and disgusting as herself. Why else would it suddenly betray her like this? But, after shredding her skin millimeter per millimeter and deeper and wider than ever, she can still see red. Nothing green inside here and yet there she is. In love. Feeling something she shouldn't. What she would deny herself forever if she could. But she can't. Why can't she? And now she can't even blame it on her green and worthless complexion. She sees it for herself. It is not the fault of the green color, because there still is red.

Terror shakes her. Disgust. And fear. Because, if it is not the green, than it is entirely her. It is her fault she fell in love, when she shouldn't have. Who could want a curse like her love?

She winces and a hiss escapes her lips. It hurts. Not just the cuts. Why are these cuts so deep? Why are they suddenly so much redder than all the times before? It hurts to love, not knowing what to do with this feeling. It makes her want to cry. Irrationally cry, even though it would not change a thing. Yet tears were pressing against her eyes somehow. Pushing to come out.

She hasn't cried since she was six. It feels just awfully wrong.

Or maybe it's the pain caused by the beautiful red that drives the tears to her eyes? She wants more, needs more of this color that is so different from her own, but can't bear the pain anymore. Her whole body shakes with it. So instead of cutting deeper, oh so deep where so much more wonderful red lies, she tightens her grip around the knife once more and presses her hand against her leg. Against both of them, her eyes growing a bit bigger in wonder doing so. When has she started to cut both of them open? She doesn't even know. But her hand is nearly completely red. Not green. Not this ugly color. She can actually admire them for once.

And she waits. Waits for the agony to fade. Agony caused by her misery. Caused by her fear and pain and her frantic heart-beating whenever she thinks about the one she loves. She wants it to fade. So why doesn't it? There is red. There is actually beauty for once in her body so why doesn't it help her like it always did? Why isn't the red enough by now?

She wants more.

Elphaba loves red. It is her favorite color. Even more now that she knows that it is his too. That he loves the color of red poppies and the passion and the love it stands for, exactly as she does. He thinks it's beautiful. He loves it too. It has to be his favorite color, she just knows it.

So she wants more of it. She wants the beauty.

There is a smile on her face, as she thinks of him. Why does she has to think of him all the time? Why doesn't it bother her more? His eyes, the dimples that cut into his cheeks when he smiles, those curls that fall into his face and make him look like a little boy, he really isn't anymore. The curls in the color of cornfields bathed in sunlight. He. His whole appearance is to her, as if he's bathed in light. He's shining with it, she allows herself to think without regret, even though the thoughts came faster than she could have shooed them anyway. Others follow. About his voice, his hands, his bravery and easy-going attitude. The thoughts that overwhelm her and make the agony fade away.

There is not enough space in her heart to feel the misery and pain and feel the love for him at the same time and somewhere deep down a silent scream cuts through her body. Again she feels betrayed by her heart, because it makes her so so very happy to think of him. Her whole body feels like it is filled with warmth and she asks herself, if that is how he feels all the time. Because suddenly she feels as if she's filled with nothing but bright light. Her hands and legs tell her otherwise, but she just can't feel the red. She can see it. But feeling.. It's love she feels. So much of it. And she wants it, the moment she feels it. It is wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. But she can't feel otherwise. She wants to tell him, wants to hold him, wants to kiss him. She longs for a kiss. Kisses. Kisses between red lips, that don't mean blood at all, but instead just the pure passion and love, she loves about the color. But she can't. Again her love is probably a curse to him.

Without expecting it there are tears on her face. There is pain everywhere. In- an outside of her body. And it's awful. She cares. She's lost, too. Can't do anything about it. Every time she imagines him she fights the urge to see more red. Not for the pain. Just for the color. Red. Red. Beloved red. She flees in the red. Wants to drown in it. But at the same time she knows that more red means more pain and maybe even losing her life, if she's not careful enough.

She still wants to drown in red to see him. Maybe in red she's not so ugly in his eyes anymore?

Of course she thought about it already. About being dead. But then her heart told her that there are Animals and a sister to care for and now there's him. He may can live in a world without her, but she can't. And to her death is a world without him. Also she's not such a coward as to escape her misery through death, as much as she uses fantasize about it. She has good to do, or so her heart told her.

Yet she is a coward two times over. The cutting already causes her pain she does not like. Cutting so deep, it could take her life, would be unbearable for her. It frightens her.

And the people. They would talk. Talk about the worthless green girl that took her life all over the country and even if she needn't hear the talking anymore - never again, she kind of likes it - she still has her pride. Never should people talk about her performing such a coward-ish act. She's stronger than that. Was it until now and will be in the future. They won't get the satisfaction.

Her pride protected her til now and she's thankful. In her eyes the color of pride is also red. Has to be.

The thought brings her back to her current situation; Tearstained face, blood on her body, pain in her limbs and veins, but a smile on her face. He does that to her. The smiling. The glow. Light in her eyes and heart. She looks at the whole mess, herself - of course - and sights. The knife touches the floor gently, as if it hasn't cut trough flesh and caused a crimson flow of blood, and is left alone for now. She still hasn't finished.

As she washes her body – she will not think clean, because her body is green and washing means that green reappears and green can't mean clean, it's dirty, disgusting, dreadful - a swirl of red water pools around her ankles. Only a bit of red remains on her. It is more than usual, but still.. Somehow she's sad.

Later, while she lies in her bed the covers barely covering her hips, the knife reappears. She's through with the red cuts for now, but there is one last thing that simply needs to be done. She thinks of him, all the time really, and smiles again. Loves again. And draws the red again.

She always refrained from words. There was no need, red comes from straight lines just fine, but she also did it, because words can turn into lies too easily. She could've carved the word green, since she'll never be another color, but she wouldn't. Reminding herself of her ugly skin every time her beloved red appears? That would be stupid.

Now, now though she carves a word into her stomach, right under the navel, because in one sweet moment she found something that'll never turn out to be not true.

She wants him. Wants him so bad like she never wanted anything before. He makes her happy. She nearly overflows with joy just thinking of him. And she is oh so thankful for it, even if her love is still a curse to him. To her it's not. Not anymore. Because for what he taught her. What he makes her be and feel. Because of him there's light inside of her and she is not a green girl but a woman. Her red is suddenly not only the blood she draws, but truly passion and love. So she writes just that. Even if the people, who talk, would never be able to understand it. She does. She carves LOVE and smiles a little more.

AN: Thanks for reading. Elphaba and Fiyero forever :)


End file.
